


When Winter Thaws

by moon_opals



Category: Disney Ducks (Comics), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck
Genre: F/M, Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, NSFW, Old Age, Old Married Couple, Reconciliation Sex, Romance, Youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 01:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19346899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: There comes a time when you have to give in.Scrooge and Goldie give in.





	When Winter Thaws

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thehousethatfloats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehousethatfloats/gifts).



> Happy Belated Birthday thehousethatfloats! Hope you enjoyed your special day! End notes will include additional AU information.

A sliver uprooted in his spine. It sewed at the spine’s atlas and spread it below to the tip of its coccyx. Synapses collected and stirred, an emotion long buried was aroused. Scrooge would’ve licked his lips had he possessed them. He twiddled his fingers instead. His intestines were crude, twisted and knotted, tangled in what he believed a horrible case of nerves.

Gone was the confident and daring Scrooge McDuck, Buckaroo of the Badlands, King of the Klondike. A poor, old man stood in his place. He stood in front of the greatest treasure he’d ever known. His throat knotted. Breathing, a simple task, grew difficult. He clutched his robe and exhaled through his nostrils.

“Scrooge,” she said softly. “Are you alright?” She stepped closer, mindful of the distance. Uncertainty and care breached her stony stare. He bathed in the pools, willing to drown in them if she permitted it. In that instant he wondered what led to their estrangement and what he’d done to earn her ire.

Her touch was gentle. Folding over his knuckles, she closed their gap and pressed her front to his. He measured the differences. The last he’d seen her youth flourished. Her hair was sweet lemon. Her skin was free of line and exhaustion. There was a light in her eyes, so bright it may have blinded him had he given her the chance. “What a beautiful woman,” was what he observed the night they met, a plain observation made over a cup of spiked coffee. The Star of the North’s beauty was uncontested, and so was her cruelty.

But not today. Not tonight. She shed the mask she bore for more than a century. She released The Star of the North. She banished The Ice Queen of Dawson. She neither melted or thawed, simply stepped away to let Goldie go onward unburdened. Her smile was soft, timid even, and she wiggled her hand around his, squeezing tightly.

Lemon sweet hair blossomed into grey. A steel, harsh grey, lighter than midnight, colder than the sun, and it fell in one swell swoop past her shoulders. Her bangs were not spared either. His diffident touch startled her. His finger slid under the bangs, silently marveling at its feathery texture. Her throat tightened, and her eyes began to burn. She blamed the awe on his pained face, the disbelief.

“You aged,” he murmured at last. “You said you never wanted to grow old.”

She had no response at first. Just a wry smile she wasn’t sure she truly felt. “Growing old is terrible,” she admitted quietly. “I was never a fan of it,” but the more she thought, the less pain she felt. “I return every now and then, for a quick pick me up. The orphanage would collapse without me.”  
Fire sheeted over emerald. He heard the laugh in his mind before it rippled steady air. He clasped his hand on top of hers, and the smile they shared was brighter than they had ever known.

“I think they’d do fine without you,” he said proudly, “they’re capable of it, y’know.”

“I know they would,” she replied. “But I’m not ready to retire, and they’re not ready to settle.” Like she did one hundred and twenty years ago, she gently led him to bed for rest. The mattress creaked and groaned under their weight, which was not much. It was simply older than Scrooge preferred to admit. He was not interested in purchasing another. Her brocade robe matched her eyes and former hair; amber morning glories blossomed in circular motions on her sleeves, back, and front.

She acquired the robe in Nanjing during the 1980s. “I’d fallen in the underground, lost in the eighteen levels of hell,” she explained quietly. “Chang’e found me there. I guess she was watching me on the moon’s balcony. She said it was awfully loud...and sad there. She gave me a bow and arrow, made by her husband, and sent me on my way.”

“In the nineties,” he repeated. The time period weighed heavily on his heart, but now wasn’t the time to brood. “I suppose you found the robe there in the underground,” he kissed her brow, and chuckled at her light giggle.

“I may have used it for weathering purposes,” she admitted, unashamed. “It was very cold down there.”

Their locked fingers explored new and old skin. Unless an underlying medical reason was the cause, feathers rarely grayed. Black and grey stayed black and grey until nature or artificial purposes took their course. Hair or no hair, feathers were the same. While coloring remained permanent, feather condition was far more fickle. Her texture surprised him. Coarser than he remembered, he mused the time she last swam in the pools of Wronguay or was trapped in a demon dimension.

“A while,” she kissed under his jaw where a small piece of flesh curved arousal into him. “I’m not the young filly I used to be,” she murmured.

His sights found the gold ribbon that kept her robe closed. His stomach clenched and rumbled eagerly; his loins grew irritated. He pulled the end and watched with satisfaction as the robe parted like the red sea, revealing the white hidden underneath. She stretched on the bed, arms crossed over her head, and she trembled, the night air was cold at this hour.

Cold temperatures never hindered them, certainly not him. His beak became reacquainted with her neck; he started at the top, right below where an ear would be, then traveled slowly. He kissed under her beak to the middle of her neck. She moaned above, eyes closed, and released short lived sighs. Her breasts received a good preening. He picked and brushed, identifying old and new feathers. He raked through them kindly, getting a better feel of what he’d neglected for more than thirty-five years. Her thighs squeezed around him. She gripped the top of his head, chanting his name like a prayer.

Lower he went. He offered her flesh kisses and sweet nothings, up until he reached her abdominal area. It was below her stomach, lower her main and minor intestines he hazarded. There lied a line that was solely flesh. A long, neat pink line where no feathers grew or had grown since the incision laid its claim. He touched meekly and raised his head to meet hers. The question was in his stare, and she looked away, blushing lightly.

“The doctors said there was no way I’d lay, not with the size of the eggs,” she said quietly. “The doctor said I’d likely kill myself halfway had I try to push, so cesaerean it was.” Disappointment laced her tone. Scrooge tilted his head, confused. “I know,” she whispered, expression dark. “It’s ugly.”

He traced a finger along the flesh, sending shivers from fingertip to toe. “You gave birth to their daughters,” he said firmly. “This is a part of you, and Goldie, my treasure, no part of you is ugly,” he kissed one end and kissed another. A rope of kisses adorned her skin, and she swallowed thickly, pushing down tears that threatened to fall. She laughed them away, and they clink and cried like descending coins into his money bin.

He moved slowly, down to the bottom where she was opened to him. He stared in amazement, unable to articulate the emotions and sensations flowing freely through his body. He guided a finger over the hood, very lightly, and earned a sharp intake as reward. Gently the finger went, lining along swollen lips until it stopped at her opening. It was already slick, just a little. He straightened his bifocals and nodded. He climbed up the bed to where his bed drawer was. Goldie shifted a little, turning to ask, but she stayed quiet, too interested to speak, and a little impatient too.

He found the small tube and shimmied back between her legs. He squirted an appropriate amount and applied it on his and her. Goldie shivered, the sensation striking her as unusual, but she settled quickly, laughing at the measures he’d taken.

“I’m going to ask,” she breathed. “How long have you had that waiting in there?”

“Hm. Good question,” he stroked her swollen clit gently, “but not long. I’d never let a good tube go to waste. When I realized where this was going to, where this was going to end up, I did some research.” He blushed, “Donald helped.”

“I see,” she groaned. “I won’t ask anymore.”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t tell her silicone based lubricants were recommended for sensitive genitals and lasted longer than water based brands. She didn’t need to know. Appropriately soaked, he slipped a single finger inside and inhaled sharply, which mirrored her own intake above. Her walls contracted and pulsed around him. He teased carefully, rotating his finger before inserting a second. Another sharp intake. He chuckled and lowered his beak on her swollen clit. His tongue licked and prodded, motioning in quick strokes that threatened to undo her.

A painful tug off his skull told him she found what remained of his hair. She tugged and pulled, thighs enclosing around him. Her gasps were cut short; hobbling in and out, she whispered his name quickly. “Scrooge,” she groaned. “Please, please.” He pumped her solidly. His two fingers hadn’t worked in this manner for a long time. Neglect did not lead to ignorance. He hadn’t forgotten what to do and how to do it, and he was intent on doing it well.

He made a small arch inside, rising to where a squishy area had swollen. There were other access points like this one, multiple in their species as it was recorded. But they were eager for release. Her tightened walls vibrated, rocking back and forth; excitement drowned her. This was Time’s curse. They’d grown complacent, disregarding their natural instincts and what made life worth living. He was worse than her. Life dealt him a wicked, painful blow, and rather than growing, he wallowed in grief and self pity.

Tonight was a new beginning. They’d lost what they’d never earn or steal again, but something new offered similar promises. For once, they were willing to compromise. Her point was reached. She came around him, the walls squeezing tight then followed with sharp witted palpitations. As he sucked and licked, something wet squirted out, like a broken faucet. He leaned back to observe his work. She convulsed and trembled, sweat clung to her bangs. Her moans devolved into whimpers, and she crossed her breasts, panting as she came down from her high.

“Are you alright,” he chuckled.

“Eugh.”  
  
He smirked. Age hadn’t turned against him completely, he supposed. Wearing that confidence he climbed on top of her and nuzzled her cheek. He gripped her curled fists, easing them flat so they could entwine into his. He used his other hand, adjusting himself slightly so his entrance came easier, and watched with delight as her back arched ever so slightly as he slid in. Her eyes widened. Her beak parted with a detached ‘o’ on her tongue. He entered her completely, right to the very hilt, and laughed when her legs wrapped around his waist, pushing him deeper.

In their youth, he would’ve taken her as she was. He would’ve forced through as she giggled and moaned underneath him. It was a race, and it was not a race. They were frantic and desperate. This was different. Time altered. Life molded. The people they were now were kinder, slower, steadier, and this was what they wanted for their reunion. His pace was brisk but steady. He was rough and gentle in his administration. He thrust proudly into her, striking every sensible crook and cranny she had to offer. And with ducks, there were plenty.

“Scrooge, Scrooge,” she panted in his neck, arms pinned on the mattress. “Please, I can’t,” she bucked her hips to meet his thrusts. “I can’t take anymore.”

“Sweet lass,” he groaned. Whatever he was going to say was lost in translation. His energetic thrusts did not slow or wane. He knew he found the spot from earlier, possibly a different one somewhere along the same path. Teary gasps assaulted her, and she closed her eyes, swallowing the scream ready to pass through gritted teeth. She came with astounding forced, and she motioned silently for him to meet her there. Their beaks met as they were stunted with their orgasms; his and hers pushing them to silence. A feverish kiss protected the slumbering household from their passion, and as their orgasm passed, it continued to spend.

She embraced him when he fell on top of her. She held him in her arms, smile draping her beak, and she ran her fingers through his thistle grown hair. Usually, he’d slunk away, pulling her to him as he nuzzled her cheek, sleep waiting for him, but he was more than content to stay where he was. As was she. She hummed softly, a very distant tune they knew, and he chuckled quietly.

“A little maiden climbed an old man’s knees,” he sang sadly. “Begged for a story, ‘Do, Uncle, please.’”

She glanced at him and grinned. “Why are you single. Why you live alone,” she continued softly, quietly for his ears only. ‘Have you no babies, have you no home?’”

He turned to hold her gaze. “You always did,” he cupped her cheek, obliging her to do the same. “You always will love.”

A single tear slid down her cheek, and before she had the chance to hastily wipe it away, he did so with his thumb. He leaned closer and kissed her brow, “Always.”

For the first time, she leaned into said kiss. She leaned into his arms that swooped her full, and rested her head on his chest, counting each proud heartbeat. The night was young, and they were old. When dawn screamed her arrival they’d resume their conversation, and maybe, possibly, she’d give in at last and apologize for everything she didn’t do. Maybe he’d forgive her. Maybe he’d embrace her again. Maybe she’d stay for breakfast too.

“As long as you’re here in the morning, dove,” he rested his beak on her hair. “As long as you’re here in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

She nodded. “As long as the children won’t need me,” she promised quietly, angry at the tears falling freely onto his feathers. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She sighed, shuffling quietly to reveal a small, velvet box. She slipped the ring on his fingers and lied there, watching him sleep.

At dawn he'd see a gold band on his finger. Gold hands curved to meet in the middle where an emerald heart, surmounted by a diamond crested crown, shined brilliantly. No ring or promise could undo the damage she'd done, but they had to start somewhere.

He'd know she intended to keep her moonlight promise.

**Author's Note:**

> A long, long time ago a friend and I designed an AU where Goldie had 'matured.' In other words, this Goldie was closer to her Don Rosa characterization than DT17. I decided to return to it during Scroldie week with what was supposed to be a brief, not serious oneshot for Scroldie Week.
> 
> Scrooge and Goldie haven't seen each other in years. It isn't like the show where they'd meet up every now and then, mess around, and part. Scrooge sensed something was different and realized Goldie was actively avoiding him rather than seeking him out as confirmed in "The Outlaw Scrooge McDuck."
> 
> Goldie is an adventurer still, but is wiser, more compassionate? She isn't 'kind,' but far more willing to 'settle' down. Her stubbornness (and fear and commitment issues and fear of abandonment) led her to making poor relationship decisions.
> 
> You're probably wondering how we got to this point. What happened? How it happened? The answer...haven't drawn it up yet.
> 
> Take this as a 'What If' story, or the third part of said story. I'd love to return to this when I have the time.
> 
> I'll confess I researched what was the best lube for elderly people. Scrooge and Goldie should enjoy their time together without discomfort and chafing.


End file.
